


The Guy Next Door

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Allusions of Dysphoria (not explicit), Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Bored Accountant Konoha, Konoha needs a firehose, M/M, Masturbation, Nudity, Salty Dialogue, Stage Actor Akaashi, Transboy!Akaashi, Transvolleys, mentions of transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-12 02:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4460996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Konoha Akinori is a simple guy with simple needs. </p><p>All he craves out of life is a place to sleep, food to eat, the newest gaming console to hit the market, and to crank one out twice a day to keep himself from punching one of his co-workers in the throat. Oh, and peace and quiet while he’s doing it is always nice.</p><p>This is why his new neighbor is an <i>asshole</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was the result of a prompt on Tumblr, asking for KonoAka. Of course I would make it filthy, but you know me...

Konoha Akinori is a simple guy with simple needs.

All he craves out of life is a place to sleep, food to eat, the newest gaming console to hit the market, and to crank one out twice a day to keep himself from punching one of his co-workers in the throat. Oh, and peace and quiet while he’s doing it is always nice.

This is why his new neighbor is an _asshole_.

Midnight is an unholy hour to be blaring some strange opera crap, but such is the case as Konoha’s resigned hand droops over his rapidly flagging arousal. All he wants is to get off. That’s all. In his own home, which god knows he pays enough rent for.

With a growl, he slams his head into his pillow, pulls the covers over his ears, and grits his teeth until he drifts into a restless sleep, full of throat punching. So much throat punching.

 

After a day that a whole pot of coffee couldn’t even fix, Konoha returns to his apartment hungry, horny, and out of sorts. He’d missed his morning fap because he was too angry from missing the one the night before that he abstained for fear of breaking off something very important.

To top it off, regional management for the accounting firm he works for had a scheduled visit that day, and as their normal landscapers’ truck had broken down, Konoha (the newest and therefore lowest on the totem pole) had been volunteered to mow the grass.

His suit ruined, grass clinging to his everything, and green seeping into the flesh of his ankles, Konoha flings himself onto his couch, not caring that his grass-caked shoes were still on his feet.

And that’s when he hears it.

It isn’t loud our gaudy, but there is a faint lilt of a high and clear voice soaking through the walls, accompanied by the sound of a whiny violin.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Konoha grumbles before throwing one of his shoes at the wall adjoining his and his noisy neighbor’s units. When it lands with a heavy thud, the music abruptly stops. He grins before shouting, “Use headphones, you dick!”

After Konoha’s outburst, the music doesn’t start back up and one very satisfied Konoha burrows into the fluffy recesses of the couch and thinks this day isn’t a complete waste.

Or not.

A subtle knock, almost too soft to filter into Konoha’s drowsy brain, jerks him from the clutches of imminent sleep. In his haste to identify the noise, he sits bolt upright and promptly falls right off the couch due to the subsequent head rush. Climbing to his feet, he looks down in partial confusion when he sees one still-shod foot before flinging the offending second shoe towards the door with the flick of a toe.

Konoha stomps over to the door and rips it open to see who is disturbing his peace and quiet. His jaw drops and his mind goes fuzzy when he sees who is on the other side. Messy black hair, wide dark eyes, lashes that go on forever, and a softly rounded face are only the highlights of who has to be the most beautiful guy Konoha has ever seen.

It takes him a while to notice that those eyes are crinkling with distaste as they peruse his own ruffled appearance. “Pardon the intrusion,” his visitor says, though there is no hint of apology in his cool voice. “I live in the unit to the left of you.”

Konoha’s brows shoot upward. “No shit?” When his neighbor crinkles his nose in distaste, Konoha mentally kicks himself and amends, “Oh, so you’re who moved in? I was wondering who took over the unit after Mikasa-san.”

“I’m sure.” Konoha can see his neighbor eyeballing the parts of his home that are visible from the wide open door, and he is all at once self-conscious about the pile of dirty laundry on the kotatsu, or the shards of grass littering the path from the door to the couch, which is stained with dirt from the multiple times he has been too lazy to remove his shoes when he gets home.

But there is something about the way his neighbor’s eyelids hover half-mast, as if their owner is half asleep. It gives the guy a slightly haughty expression, but more than that, it adds to the overall appeal of this Adonis-like person who is looking at him like he is something clinging to the bottom of a shoe.

“So, um,” Konoha fumbles as he gnaws on his bottom lip and runs an anxious hand through his hair, “what’s your name, then?”

“Akaashi,” Hot Neighbor replies. “Akaashi Keiji.”

_What a prick_ , Konoha thinks. Even his name is pretty, and it sends Konoha over an edge he doesn’t even know he’s navigating until it’s too late.

“Okay, Akaashi,” Konoha starts, oddly appreciative of the feel of the other man’s name on his tongue. “Just so you know, your loud music in the middle of the night is really annoying, so if you’d just use headphones or something. All right?”

Akaashi’s eyes narrow. “I’m not listening to music, Konoha-san. I’m practicing.”

“Practicing? Huh?” Konoha frowns in confusion. “For what, the drowning cat festival?”

At this, a vein throbs dangerously at Akaashi’s temple. “No, Konoha- _san_. I just got over laryngitis, and my show is in three weeks. I need to get my voice back.” At Konoha’s blank stare. “I’m a stage actor. I do musicals, and none of them have drowning cats.”

Konoha’s cheeks burn in embarrassment. “Um, sorry, um, yeah . . . it was the violins?”

When Akaashi rolls his eyes at this, Konoha slams the door in Akaashi’s face and storms through the apartment until he can fling himself onto his bed and scream into his pillow.

After cursing himself and his stupid mouth, Konoha scrapes himself out of bed to take a long, hot shower. The grassy confetti infecting his apartment can wait for later; the stuff on his body needs to go _now_.

Fifteen minutes later, he emerges from the steam-filled bathroom with raw, pink skin and the most annoying erection ever. Why? Because as he had scoured the unwanted nature from his flesh, his head clamored with stray thoughts of his gorgeous neighbor’s stupid eyelashes and his pouty lower lip and —

_Fuck, I am so gay._

Konoha doesn’t recall ever having resented masturbation before, but just as he settles down to divest himself of his little problem, the singing starts again.

It sounds different knowing it’s Akaashi singing and not a recording, but it might be the accompanying music, too. This time, instead of a violin, the mellow strains of a piano vibrate through the walls.

This time, Konoha vaguely recognizes the tune as one from The Phantom of the Opera. Twice, he stops mid-stroke just to listen to Akaashi hitting high notes he can’t even imagine hitting, and during the intense parts of the song, he found his fist pumping with startling strength. Therefore, he is surprised but not shocked when he reaches his climax just as the song does.

The singing doesn’t stop until around ten, but this time, Konoha doesn’t mind.

 

It’s a pattern now. Konoha can’t manage to get himself off unless Akaashi’s voice is occupying the quiet atmosphere that feels strange when it used to be a relief. Fortunately for his preferred self-love schedule, Akaashi is nearly always singing. Sometimes, it’s show tunes, and others some ridiculous pop. Here and there, it’s opera, but not too much. But always between eight in the morning and ten at night. Never late. Not anymore.

It’s during the walk from the train station to Konoha’s building that he realizes that his first meeting with Akaashi, albeit productive in terms of getting the necessary peace and quiet, had been a disaster otherwise. He’s sure his beautiful neighbor thinks he’s a stupid dick who rolls around in grass and can’t clean his house. Konoha hates the fact that those assumptions are not entirely incorrect.

He had essentially insulted Akaashi in lieu of a simple request to keep it down late at night. Had stared like an idiot instead of making eye contact like a sane person.

Cursing under his breath, Konoha takes a detour to the bakery he passes by every day. He picks out a dozen lemon crème bars the baker recommended, a strawberry tart for himself, and heads home. His own pastry doesn’t last long, but the rest are ensconced in a nicely wrapped package courtesy of the nice bakery lady, who he may or may not have given the impression that he is an apologetic boyfriend. It’s not a complete lie.

Konoha almost sprints up the stairs to his floor, but as he pauses in front of Akaashi’s door, his fist pauses a millimeter before knocking. It has finally occurred to him that he has no idea what to say.

However, that’s never stopped him from doing anything in his life, and he’s not about to start now. With that, he knocks.

About a minute later, a bleary-eyed Akaashi stumbles to the door in an oversized housecoat and hair that is even messier than Konoha remembers. “Huh?” Akaashi mumbles as he rubs his eyes. “Oh. It’s you.”

This time, Konoha is armed with the knowledge that he is woefully attracted to his neighbor and fixes his gaze on Akaashi’s eyebrows in lieu of his lack of ability to look the taller man in the eye without blushing. “Pardon the intrusion,” he says before bowing.

“What time is it?” Akaashi sleepily scratches the back of his head before yawning.

Raising a brow, Konoha answers, “Almost eight. Were you asleep already?”

“Kind of. I have trouble sleeping because of my —” Akaashi sighs heavily. “Never mind. It’s a long story. What can I do for you, Konoha-san?”

Konoha now can’t think of anything he had planned on saying. The only thought filling his head is the intense desire to know what this long story is. However, he’s just self-aware enough not to ask, so he says instead, “I think we got off on the wrong foot.” He holds out the package. “These are for you, as a welcome gift and as an apology for me and my stupid mouth.”

His head down for much of his apology, Konoha is so very glad he chooses that moment to look up. The smile Akaashi gives him is small, but it is genuine. “Thank you, Konoha-san. Would you like to come in for tea?”

It isn’t a date by any means, but Konoha can’t quell the feeling that he’s been granted a prize as he follows Akaashi into his unit. The walls are plastered with framed posters of films and stage productions, most of which Konoha has never heard of. However, one thing he is familiar with is the occasional appearance of a certain someone in a handful of the posters.

One in particular catches his eye. It’s a younger Akaashi, wearing Russian peasant garb from forever ago while sitting on the top of a roof holding a violin. The title of the play is in English, so Konoha doesn’t know what it’s called, but he runs his fingers over the plastic case covering the letters and tries to sound it out.

“What’s this one about?” he asks finally after staring at the title and still having no idea what it says.

“Jewish persecution at the turn of the twentieth century,” Akaashi answers as he holds out a steaming mug. “Here.”

“Thank you,” Konoha answers before taking a sip. It burns his tongue, of course — he’s not sure what else he expects—but the flavor and scent are really good. “What kind of tea is this?”

Akaashi gives him a strange look. “Um, just regular green tea with honey.”

Konoha colors. “It just tastes different. Then again, most of my tea comes from the microwave.”

He sees Akaashi shudder visibly at the thought and smirks. _God that was cute_. For a moment, he contemplates coming up with other things to say to get a reaction but passes for fear of making Akaashi never want to speak to him again. Or, worse, further interrupt his personal happy time.

Instead, he settles on, “So, how long have you been acting? You look about thirteen here.”

“That was my first one, and I was fifteen, actually.” Akaashi sips his tea and looks down. “I was, um . . . different back then.”

Feeling like there is something hanging that he doesn’t understand, Konoha frowns. He’s afraid of offending Akaashi by asking what it is outright, he settles for, “You don’t look that different.”

Akaashi chuckles — a musical sound. “You have no idea.” He wanders over to the assortment of cushions positioned around the kotatsu and sits before patting the one beside him. “Come sit. You’ve been at work all day, and you’re probably tired.”

Konoha can’t help but comply as he settles next to Akaashi. This man bears little resemblance to the irritated one at his door just a few days before. He’s polite and solicitous and not nearly as salty as he had first seemed. This makes something dark linger in the back of his mind, as if he’s falling into a trap and doesn’t know it.

Apparently unmindful of Konoha’s internal debate, Akaashi pulls the bakery box towards him and carefully opens it without harming the wrapping. There is a soft gasp as he peers in side. “Lemon! I love lemon bars. Thank you, Konoha-san.”

The resulting smile made Konoha’s bones turn to liquid. When his grin spreads across his face, Akaashi’s eyes wrinkle on the edges in ill-used laugh lines, and his perfect brows and perfect mouth remove Konoha’s ability to stutter anything but, “W-welcome.”

As he watches Akaashi set into one of the lemon bars, Konoha squeezes his eyes shut and thinks of every unattractive thing he can think of. Raw tofu. Dead cats. Old people sex. Polyester underwear touching his junk. Anything to stifle his brain’s — and perhaps something else’s — reaction to Akaashi’s small moan of pleasure as he finishes off the treat.

“Want one?” Akaashi asks, jolting Konoha’s attention back to reality as he slides the box across the table. “I can’t possibly eat all these.”

Konoha is fairly certain that he’ll choke on anything he tries to stuff in his mouth; he’s already having difficulty keeping his tongue from clogging his throat. So he shakes his head and manages a tight smile. “They’ll keep for a few days. Lemon is supposed to help your voice or whatever, the bakery lady told me. Your singing is kind of, um, nice.”

Akaashi chortles before taking another large bite of pastry. “You sure know how to make a guy feel good about himself, Konoha-san.” When Konoha’s eyes widen in horror, he shakes his head. “I’m kidding.” Konoha sighs in relief, so Akaashi fires a quick, “Maybe.”

“You’re killing me, Akaashi!” Konoha cries, hiding his face from Akaashi’s resulting smirk. “Now you’re just being mean.”

With a huff, Akaashi rests his cheek in his hand and leans on the kotatsu to regard Konoha. “You know I know you’ve been checking me out, right?”

Konoha’s cheeks bulge as he fights off the urge to dry heave. He shakes his head adamantly, which only draws a laugh from Akaashi. “You’re not a good actor, Konoha-san. You’re not hard to figure out at all. But don’t think it’s a bad thing. It’s actually kind of refreshing.”

Akaashi stands and pats Konoha’s shoulder. “For the record, yeah, I’m okay with guys, and no, you haven’t completely ruined things. You should keep trying. I enjoy it thoroughly.”

As Konoha gapes, Akaashi sidles away towards the bathroom, shedding his robe on the way. His shapely bottom sways as he retreats, and Konoha doesn’t even realize he’s rock hard until the sound of the shower hits his ears.

Sighing, Konoha reaches for a lemon bar and figures, if he does choke, at least in death his awkward boner can be blamed on rigor mortis or something. After cramming an entire piece in his mouth and chewing for a solid minute, he gulps down and nods. “Dude, these _are_ really good.”

After ten minutes of listening to Akaashi’s voice vibrate through the white noise of running water, Konoha relegates himself to his unfortunate condition and just hopes that his neighbor doesn’t notice before he makes his escape. Judging by the conversation they had ten minutes ago, however, Konoha doesn’t hold out much hope for that.

When the bathroom door slides open, Konoha looks anywhere but at where he knows Akaashi will emerge or where he left his robe. He doesn’t look back that way until he hears the rustle of fabric and the soft pad of bare feet on tatami mats coming his way.

Akaashi settles down beside him once again and leans into his shoulder. “I see you finally caved and had one. What bakery are those from, anyway.”

Konoha says the name of the bakery, and Akaashi nods like he knows the place. “I’ve passed it a few times. I’ll have to stop in here and there and treat myself.” He smiles wryly. “Not too often, of course. Can’t damage the goods by getting fat.”

“Nah,” Konoha says as he reaches for another lemon bar. “You’d be hot no matter what you weigh.” He enjoys the lavish joy of watching Akaashi blush. Two can play at this game. “All the parts still work the same.”

As he polishes off his second lemon bar, Konoha holds up his fingers and says, “Woops. All covered in sugar,” before sliding two fingers into his mouth and slowly, languorously pulling them back out. He doesn’t miss the way Akaashi doesn’t breathe until his little ritual is finished.

Standing, Konoha manages to angle his lower body away and says, “Thank you for tea, Akaashi-san. We should do this again sometime.”

Akaashi’s answering smile is almost as devious as the one plastered across Konoha’s face as he bolts into his own apartment to relieve himself of his little problem.


	2. Chapter 2

Though he hears Akaashi singing, Konoha doesn’t see him again for over a week. But when they do meet next, it’s in the coin laundry on a Saturday morning while Konoha nurses a giant cup of coffee.

“Konoha-san, how nice to see you again,” Akaashi greets, sitting next to Konoha on the bench across from the dryers, far more closely than necessary. “You haven’t shouted through the walls once.”

Tiredly examining the swirls of creamer in the cup, Konoha yawns and replies, “Huh? Oh!” He sets the coffee down and says, “Honestly, I haven’t been home a lot. We’re getting into the busy season, so I’ve been working until sundown and just passing out when I get home.”

Something flashes in Akaashi’s eyes, and Konoha’s tired brain thinks it looks a lot like . . . relief. “And here I thought you just weren’t interested anymore. Imagine my disappointment, not to mention the blow to my fragile ego.”

“Ugh, enough with the sarcasm,” Konoha grumbles. “It’s way the fuck too early for that.”

Akaashi’s chuckle is light and quiet, but the sound makes Konoha’s chest tingle. “Fair enough. If you hate the morning so much, why are you here so early?”

Konoha scowls at his coffee before picking it up and guzzling half of it. “I have to work a half day today, and I spilled coffee on my last pair of clean trousers yesterday.”

Frowning, Akaashi gives him a curious look. “You do know suits are supposed to be dry cleaned, right?”

“Maybe if you buy them at a real store.” Konoha snorts. “Dry cleaning is expensive, and so are things that need dry cleaning. So I buy cheap, machine-wash trousers and just do dry cleaning on the jackets.”

This makes Akaashi smile as he plucks Konoha’s coffee cup from his hand and takes a sip. “You’re smarter than you look, Konoha-san. I wouldn’t have guessed they weren’t matching suits.” With a chortle, he adds, “Of course, the grass might’ve had something to do with that.”

Konoha realizes his drink is gone only a moment before he catches the jibe. “Hey! Get your own, fiddle boy.” He looks down into the cup dolefully as he sees it’s now empty. “Damn it!”

It’s hard to miss Akaashi’s resulting eye roll. “Wow, you are bad at this.” He shakes his head and massages his temples. “This is the point where you’re supposed to tell me I owe you a coffee now. How bad are you at flirting, anyway?”

The paper cup tumbles out of Konoha’s slackened grasp as he blinks at Akaashi. “Huh?”

“Konoha-san, since I so rudely ruined your morning coffee, please let me make it up to you.” Konoha’s eyes widen. “I have dress rehearsal tonight, but maybe lunch tomorrow?”

Akaashi wants to have lunch with him. On purpose. Konoha blinks because he doesn’t know what else to do. His cute neighbor is hitting on him, and damn it, it feels _nice_.

However, it isn’t until he sees Akaashi’s face fall that he realizes he hasn’t answered. “Yes!” He notes the sigh of relief and scoots a little closer on the bench. “So, I’m just that irresistible, eh?”

With a light smile, Akaashi pecked him on the cheek. “You’re honestly more my type than theater guys, anyway. Spending an hour doing your hair before rehearsal, only to whine when the makeup people have to redo it for your costume . . . how do people even go through life that way?”

Konoha shrugs. “I dunno. When I was in high school, our volleyball captain spent an hour each morning gelling his hair to make himself look like a horned owl. He had black and white striped hair and everything. All because the school’s name was Fukurodani.”

Raising a brow, Akaashi said, “You’re kidding, right?”

“If only.” Konoha huffs a sigh. He hasn’t thought about high school since he left, but it makes him long for the days when he only had to wear trousers to school and his mom did his laundry. But most of all, he misses the camaraderie of being on a team. Having someone to crack jokes with and sweat with and cry with when they lose. His captain was the embodiment of all these things, and damn it, Konoha misses him, too. “He’s a good guy. I should look him up.”

Akaashi nods. “You should. Let me know if he still has tragic hair. If he does, I want to see.”

“Deal.” Konoha says with a chuckle.

Their good mood is evaporated when Konoha’s dryer buzzes and shuts off. With less motivation than he should have for needing to be to work in an hour, Konoha shuffles over and cannonballs all his laundry into the basket. He’ll fold them later. It’s much too early for that crap.

He picks up the basket and turns to give Akaashi a half-hearted smile. “I guess I’m off then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Akaashi replies before his tongue darts out to brush his lower lip.

Konoha’s belly drops to his knees. With a stammered goodbye in which he doesn’t even remember what he says, he sprints up the stairs and takes a cold shower.

 

The bouquet of flowers clenched in Konoha’s fist is thrust under Akaashi’s nose as he answers the incessant knock at the door. With a bow, Konoha stammers, “F-for you.”

Konoha wants to kick himself. Not only did he pace in front of Akaashi’s door for nearly a half an hour, he had tossed and turned most of the night before due to the knot of anxiety in his gut. Forget about running in circles around the neighborhood at fuck-this-o’clock on a Sunday morning just to find a flower shop that is actually open before ten on a weekend. To his dismay, the blooms shoved at Akaashi’s face are from the produce section of the grocery store and not from an actual flower shop, which means they’ll wilt and die in two days. Much like what’s left of Konoha’s dignity.

But as a surprised Akaashi accepts Konoha’s slightly crushed offering, there is nothing but a soft smile and a faint flush as Konoha dares to look up. “Thank you, Konoha-san. You didn’t have to do that, but it’s very sweet of you.”

His face is turning red, he knows it, but Konoha still allows a lopsided grin to tug at the corners of his mouth. “They still haven’t made an ‘As Beautiful As Akaashi’ flower, but as soon as they do, I’ll get you a dozen.”

At this, Akaashi snorts and shakes his head. “That was terrible. I know I said you were terrible at flirting, but I had no idea you were this far gone.” With a soft sigh, he tilts Konoha’s chin upwards and feathers a soft kiss against his lips. “But thank you, and don’t ever feel obliged to stop.”

When Akaashi slips back into his kitchen to put the flowers in water, Konoha pumps his fist and hisses, “Oh, yeah.” However, when Akaashi returns, all signs of his celebrations have ceased.

Offering his arm, Konoha asks, “So, where to?”

Akaashi shrugs before lightly gripping Konoha’s forearm, bared by his painfully selected polo shirt. “There’s a sushi bar near here. We can eat anywhere but there.”

“Don’t like sushi, then?”

Something flits across Akaashi’s features that feels dark and out of place to Konoha, and he nearly stumbles on the stairs when he sees it. However, Akaashi waves a dismissive hand. “Not really, but I used to date the restaurant owner.”

Konoha knows he isn’t terribly observant or socially apt, but even he doesn’t miss the statement beneath Akaashi’s dismissive words. Mentally, he files Sushi Guy as Akaashi’s own Voldemort and decides never to bring it up if he wants Akaashi to keep giving him those barely there smiles.

Instead, he offers, “Hey, there’s a Spanish place a few blocks away I’ve wanted to try, and it’s a nice day. We could walk there.”

“I don’t even know what Spanish food is like,” Akaashi admits with a harrumph. “Let’s do it.”

While they walk to the restaurant, Konoha listens to Akaashi talk about the musical his company is currently putting on — something foreign he can neither remember nor pronounce — and describes his character in detail. It surprises Konoha that Akaashi understands this much about a person who doesn’t even exist: personality, motivations, fears, joys.

But more than that, he utterly enjoys how Akaashi comes _alive_ while discussing his role. Konoha not-so-secretly wishes that he had that sort of passion for his own career. He doesn’t mind at all that the conversation is one-sided because he already knows plenty about himself and Akaashi doesn’t seem to need much material to have him figured out.

Soon, they’re seated in a cozy dining area, equipped with menus Konoha can’t even begin to understand. Akaashi doesn’t seem to fare much better, so they both end up allowing their server to make suggestions based on other foods they both like and dislike. They end up with a variety platter of tapas as an appetizer and beef paella for their main course.

There is little talking during the meal, but as Konoha dishes himself another helping of paella, he notices Akaashi looking at him strangely. The fork he has hanging loosely in his mouth plops down on his plate as he asks, “What?”

Akaashi colors when he realizes he’s been busted. “Sorry. It’s rude to stare.” He pushes his food around his plate before looking up tentatively. “I was wondering if you wanted to, um . . . come see the show when it opens.”

“Your musical play thing?” Akaashi nods. “Wow, that would be badass.”

A smile twitching, Akaashi rolls his eyes. “Ever the man of words. I’ll get you a good seat.”

Konoha grins. “Awesome. I’ve never been to a musical before, but if you act as well as you sing, I know I’ll enjoy at least one part of it.”

At this comment, Akaashi blinks at Konoha before leaning across the table and planting a kiss on his cheek. “You know, you’re sweet when you’re not calling me a dick.”

Cringing, Konoha sighs. “I never did apologize for that. I was just tired and frustrated from work and . . . stuff.” He would rather be drawn and quartered by anabolic steroid-munching dragons than admit what he meant by ‘stuff’, but Akaashi’s pretty smile at his words made that uncomfortable confession unnecessary.

“How are even this cute?” Akaashi all but scolds. “It kind of makes me want to smack you.”

With a chortle, Konoha shrugs. “You never know. I might be into that kind of thing.”

“For shame, Konoha-san. We are in public.” Akaashi’s expression, however, does not carry the same admonishment as his words.

Konoha merely grins and rests his chin on his palm. “I’m shameless. It’s one of my finer qualities.” With a waggle of his brows, he blindly scoops up a forkful of whatever is left on his plate and stuffs it into his mouth.

Akaashi can only laugh as his date begins to sweat while chewing on the pile of particularly strong dried peppers he had previously shuffled off to the side.

After an emergency order of flan to calm his flaming taste buds, Konoha allows Akaashi to pick up the check before they depart. They walk shoulder to shoulder for almost a block before Konoha tests the waters by lacing his fingers with Akaashi’s, enjoying the slight rush of red on the singer’s cheeks as he reciprocates.

“You know,” Konoha says, “your voice is really pretty. I can’t wait to hear you without a wall there.”

Akaashi shakes his head, his tousled hair brushing his cheeks in a way that makes Konoha’s mouth go dry. “I live in the next room. If you want to listen, you just have to ask. I don’t mind.”

Konoha doesn’t need a mirror to check if his face is beet red. “I’ll, um, keep that in mind.” _Filed under ‘never,’_ he adds to himself. That particular fetish is something he isn’t ready to reveal quite yet. Not if he has any chance of touching any part of Akaashi other than his hands.

Too soon for Konoha’s liking, they arrive back at their building. As they stand outside Akaashi’s door, he debates whether to make a move; however, the decision is made for him as Akaashi cups his cheeks and gives him a kiss that steals his breath in record time.

When they both withdraw for air, Konoha can’t take his eyes off of Akaashi, whose eyelids drift closed with a sigh and a smile. It takes all of his willpower not to thrust his hips against Akaashi’s, crush them both against the door, and steal an almost bestial kiss of his own.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he takes one of Akaashi’s hands and brushes a soft kiss to the back of it. “I hope I don’t have to wait two more weeks to see you again.”

“You remembered,” Akaashi remarks, blinking in surprise.

“’Course I did.” Konoha ducks into his shoulders and smiles wryly. “I may be dumber than a brick when it comes to subtext, but when you say something to me directly, I try not to fuck up and forget it.”

He can’t help but notice that Akaashi is gaping at him for a solid thirty seconds before carrying out the exact thing Konoha had forbidden himself from doing only moment before. Hands curl around his biceps, fingernails scorching marks as they drag across his skin. Konoha shivers at the feeling, and Akaashi swallows his groan.

After Akaashi releases the kiss, Konoha gasps for air as he melts against the door. He knows his legs are too wobbly and stupid to hold him upright, and the rest of him feels much the same. “Damn,” he huffs. “Now I _know_ you’re trying to make me embarrass myself.”

Akaashi pulls his keys from his pocket and, as he leans to unlock his door, he murmurs in Konoha’s ear: “It’s not embarrassing if I like it.”

With that, Akaashi slips past a staggering Konoha and slides the door closed behind him.

Konoha’s body feels leaden as he staggers to his own door. Once inside, he sinks onto the couch and, head lolled back, moans, “Holy shit.”

 

It’s Saturday night, two weeks after their lunch date, and while Akaashi’s show had debuted the night before, this is the first evening Konoha has available to see it.

That is, if he can leave the damn apartment sometime this side of the century.

Panicking, he texts Akaashi, who is likely in his dressing room at this very moment. _What the hell am I supposed to wear to this thing? I don’t wanna look like a jackass._

The reply is quicker than Konoha expects. _Just whatever you’d wear to work, minus the suit jacket. Waistcoat if you’ve got it. There’s no dress code. I think you’d look cute like that, though._

Konoha’s cheeks burn at the word ‘cute,’ but he does as he’s told and is happier with the end result than he would care to admit. Despite their best efforts, it has indeed been two weeks since their last meaningful interaction, minus a tired cup of coffee in the laundry room once again where Akaashi had presented Konoha with his ticket.

The train ride downtown is long, but Konoha finally finds himself sitting four rows from the front in a packed house with a program in his hand. He thumbs through it, appreciating the fact that Akaashi’s actor picture is leagues better than his co-star’s.

About a half hour later, the lights in the theater dim, and Konoha loses all track of time as the show begins with a familiar voice and a song he’s heard through the walls of his apartment several times. However, he doesn’t remember the flesh on his arms sprouting goosebumps at every crescendo.

Everything about Akaashi in this moment is enthralling. His costume is rich and shining in the lights, his command of the role Konoha has heard so much about absolute, and his voice the best he’s ever heard it. It isn’t until the song ends that Konoha realizes his mouth is hanging open.

Despite never having attended a live musical, Konoha finds himself more interested than he thought he’d be in the story’s progression outside of Akaashi’s appearances. He laughs at the right moment, sighs at others, and finds his throat strangely tight when the protagonist’s faithful steed falls prey to the tides of war. He has to admit, singing or no, if this were a movie, he would watch the hell out of it.

The first act passes with a healthy round of applause from everyone. Well, almost everyone. Konoha finds himself turning and glaring at a guy one row behind him, who is ripping on the actors and their skill levels. And the one he has the harshest critiques for is Akaashi.

“Akaashi’s voice is awful now,” guy-Konoha-is-close-to-punching remarks, wrinkling his nose. “What a waste.”

The woman sitting next to him, presumably who he is addressing, shakes her head. “I told you not to come because of this. What did you expect?”

“Something worthy of a former world-class singer.”

Konoha’s blood feels like it’s boiling in his veins, and it’s only because his teeth are welded together and his hands are strangling the stuffing out of his chair arms that he doesn’t bellow and remove that guy’s head from his shoulders. It is a monumental effort to force himself to face forward and tune out the heckler.

“Jerk,” Konoha mutters to himself.

A huff next to him makes him flinch in his seat. “I agree,” says a middle-aged woman, wearing a dress that probably costs more than Konoha’s rent. “I think Akaashi-kun is brave to come back.”

Konoha desperately wants to ask what she means by that, but the pit starts playing, and the curtains draw back for the beginning of the second act.

Quickly, under the spell of the show, Konoha all but forgets about the guy insulting Akaashi in favor of the bold and brassy sound of the play’s villain spelling out his plot in the form of a march.

The second act rounds out with a love story involving Akaashi’s character and the daughter of the villain. Konoha can’t help but feeling a rush of jealousy as he sees the utter affection Akaashi is able to school into his features. If this weren’t a play, he would be sure their love is not fictional. He finds himself dashing away tears as their strong, beautiful voices fill the room. The lady in the seat next to him hands him a tissue as the curtains slide closed once again.

“Holy crap,” Konoha breathes, his mouth awkwardly dry. “I didn’t know he was so good.”

She pats him on the arm. “Not a theater regular, I take it?”

Konoha shakes his head. “This is my first show. Akaashi’s my neighbor, so he invited me to come see.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” she answers before offering a hand. “Watanabe Ayume.”

Inclining his head, Konoha takes her hand and shakes. “Konoha Akinori. Nice to meet you, Watanabe-san.”

For the rest of intermission, Watanabe-san talks about the different shows of Akaashi’s that she’s seen while Konoha listens with an attention span that is unusually higher than normal. He thinks to himself that he’ll need to examine Akaashi’s show posters a little more closely next time he sees them.

“But I never thought I’d see Akaashi-kun again after the last one,” she explains, causing Konoha to double-take. “There were rumors that Akaashi-kun left the business, and he did for almost three years. When I heard he was coming back, I had to see it for myself.”

Konoha smiles. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to know he was missed. He’s been practicing hard for this.”

Behind him, the guy he has nearly forgotten scoffs, and Konoha can’t help but whip around and growl, “Dude, what is your damage?”

“Konoha-kun, don’t,” Watanabe murmurs as several people in adjacent seats turn to stare. “I’m sure Akaashi-kun wouldn’t want you to get into any fights on his big night.”

She is, of course, correct; Konoha knows that. However, it doesn’t keep him from fixing Mr. Heckle with a long, scathing glare until the onlookers go back to their own business. The quiet standoff is pre-empted sooner rather than later by the end of intermission and the dull scrape of curtains unveiling the third and final act.

Facing forward, Konoha grits his teeth and clenches his hands around the chair arms as Watanabe gives him a small nod of approval.

It doesn’t take him long to forget all about Mr. Heckle when he sees Akaashi’s character and fictional love interest whisk onto the stage. Once again, he’s almost taken aback by the stark contrast between Akaashi’s character and how he is in real life. The character is grinning and buoyant against Akaashi’s biting and nuanced personality. He doesn’t know how Akaashi can manufacture this sort of persona, but it’s incredible to watch.

The show wraps up with Konoha crying into Watanabe’s sleeve as she pats his head, after Akaashi’s character dies in a war and leaves a widow and a baby. The soliloquy from the main antagonist like a knife in the gut, as he ponders his decisions out loud and makes Konoha’s heart hurt just a little bit more.

When the curtains slide closed and the cast comes out to take a bow, Konoha rockets to his feet and cheers as loudly as his tear-soaked voice box will allow. He nearly tips back into his seat when Akaashi makes eye contact with him and gives him the barest little smile and a wave.

Konoha notices that, when the cast filters off stage, Akaashi immediately seeks out a crew member and whispers something in his ear. The crewman nods and heads towards the audience, which is slowly filing out of the theater. It takes a minute before Konoha realizes that he’s being called by name.

“Konoha-san, Akaashi-san has requested your presence backstage,” the crewman says before giving Watanabe, who is preparing to leave. “Watanabe-sama. I trust you enjoyed the show.”

She waves a hand. “It was beautiful, so no need to worry. I don’t plan on stopping throwing money at your group anytime soon.”

Eyes wide, Konoha asks, “You’re a patron?” He buries his face in his hands to cover his scarlet cheeks. “God, I’m sorry. I must have been so annoying with all the, you know . . .”

Watanabe laughs and claps him on the shoulder. “It was refreshing to watch a show with someone who isn’t so damn jaded about everything like Mr. Snarky behind us.”

“Yeah, fuck that guy,” Konoha says a split second before slapping a hand over his traitorous mouth.

She chortles. “Yes, indeed. It was nice to meet you, Konoha-kun. I hope we run into each other again.”

“That would be great,” Konoha replies with a grin. He could get used to the theater business if people like Watanabe-san are at its helm.

Konoha follows the crewman through the crowd and to a doorway marked Staff Only. Gesturing, he says, “Third door on the left.”

Thanking the crewman, Konoha stops in front of the correct door and knocks before calling softly, “Akaashi?”

There is no answer, so Konoha knocks again before taking a deep breath and opening the door anyway. He instinctively takes a step back when he takes in the scenery of the room.

He doesn’t see the lighted mirror that dominates the room or the rolling rack of costumes. All he can see is Akaashi, naked and hugging his knees as he sits in a puddle of fabric that is his costume for the final act.

Dropping to his knees, Konoha wraps his arms around Akaashi and murmurs into his hair, “Hey.” He reaches over and grasps the robe slung over the back of a nearby chair and drapes it over Akaashi’s shoulders. “Are you okay?”

Though he wants to kick himself for the stupid question, Akaashi doesn’t seem to absorb the absurdity of it and shakes his head. “No.” He looks up at Konoha, who barely recognizes this forlorn creature sitting in front of him. “Can you take me home?”

“Of course,” Konoha replies, not sure what to do with his words or his hands. “Just tell me what you need.”

Akaashi doesn’t answer right away, but instead leans into Konoha’s chest until his breathing evens and slows. After ten minutes and an increasingly sore backside, Konoha looks down at Akaashi’s still-coiffed hair and runs his fingers through it until the hairspray breaks apart, allowing the normally discordant locks to resume their normal operation. Anything to catch a glimpse of the Akaashi he no longer believes he knows at all.

Soon, Akaashi staggers to his feet and rummages around for a change of clothes. Konoha takes the costume and, for the lack of a better idea, drapes it over the hanging rod so Akaashi can dress in peace. Once he’s finished, Akaashi’s arms wrap around his middle from behind as he sighs into Konoha’s nape. “Thank you. I don’t normally get like this, but —”

Konoha turns as best he can and looks at Akaashi. “Hey, man, shit happens. As long as you’re okay, I’m okay.”

“That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Akaashi says with a wobbly smile, and Konoha feels his heart lurch in his chest. Whether it’s because he’s come to the unmistakable conclusion that he’s probably in love with his neighbor or the painful thought of his moronic ramblings being the nicest thing Akaashi’s ever had said to him, he doesn’t know.

But a Konoha’s ridiculous inner monologue isn’t what Akaashi needs right now. The guy asked him to take him home, and damn it, that’s what he’s going to do. Now that Akaashi is wearing street clothes, Konoha holds out one hand and gestures towards the door with the other. “Shall we?”

Akaashi takes his hand with a much sturdier smile and answers, “We shall.”

Instead of the train, Akaashi insists on a taxi, and despite knowing it costs five times as much, Konoha is grateful for the lack of an audience. However, they pass the ride in silence, with Akaashi slumping into his shoulder with his eyes closed most of the way, only stirring when the cab crawls to a stop.

Konoha pays the driver and takes care of all the doors and lifts as Akaashi follows behind in an almost dazed state. He isn’t even sure if Akaashi has his own apartment keys on him, so Konoha simply lets them both into his own flat. Akaashi doesn’t object, so he settles them on the couch so Akaashi can comfortably nestle into him.

Neither says anything, and Konoha finds himself drifting off to sleep, only to wake up a few hours later (according to the microwave clock) with Akaashi gazing intently at him.

“Hi,” Konoha says through a yawn.

“Hi,” Akaashi replies before swooping his head and brushing a soft, warm kiss on Konoha’s lips. “You really are perfect. Don’t ever forget it.”

Blinking because he’s sure his sleepy brain has betrayed him, Konoha mumbles, “I don’t think I’ve ever said so many stupid things at one time in my life when alcohol wasn’t involved.”

Akaashi chuckles and shakes his head. “Call it stupid if you like, but you said what I needed to hear when I needed to hear it. Now it’s time for me to tell you something you need to hear before I fall even more in love with you than I already have.”

Konoha nearly falls off the couch at the L-word, but he kind of thinks whatever it is Akaashi is going to say can’t take away the euphoria singing in his every nerve. Akaashi loves him. Akaashi Keiji _loves_ him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This really was supposed to end in two chapters. So, three it is, and that's my final answer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mentions of transphobia and allusions to dysphoria. If this makes you uncomfortable, please feel free to click out. They're not too heavy and there is resolution, but I don't want anyone to feel uncomfortable.

It’s a strange feeling for Konoha to sit in his own kitchen and wait to be served, but Akaashi insists on making tea for both of them and he likes the taste of Akaashi’s tea better, anyway. More than that, however, he has the feeling that Akaashi needs this small, unobtrusive task to gather his thoughts before saying whatever it is he wants to say.

Ten minutes later, two steaming mugs are placed side by side on the small table and Akaashi moves the other chair on Konoha’s right. He nudges one in Konoha’s direction and says, “Just a touch of honey.”

“That’s it?” Konoha raises a brow. “That’s your big secret?”

Akaashi’s mouth twitches, and Konoha has a sneaking suspicion he’s being laughed at. It doesn’t matter, though, because Akaashi seems to be in better spirits and for that, Konoha will be the butt of as many jokes as the guy next to him feels like throwing.

It’s almost frustrating that Akaashi’s tea tastes as good as before, Konoha thinks as he sips at his drink as he waits for Akaashi to prepare himself. He didn’t have to wait long, as Akaashi didn’t seem interested in his own mug of tea.

“Konoha-san,” Akaashi starts, his eyes trained on the minute vapor trails, “when you look at me, what do you see?”

With a frown, Konoha can’t begin to fathom how he is supposed to answer this question. Yet, he fears how Akaashi will take it if he waits forever, so with a little hesitation and more trepidation than he cares to admit, Konoha answers, “Well, you used to be the asshole with the loud music. Then you were Hot Neighbor Guy. Now you’re kind of, um, the guy I think I’m in love with.”

Akaashi looks up, his mouth hanging open in a state of speechlessness Konoha isn’t used to seeing. Akaashi has a response or even a quip for anything; he seldom sees Akaashi without words unless there is nothing that requires them, and sometimes not even then.

Konoha watches Akaashi re-school his features and grind his jaw before saying, “But you do see me as . . . a guy, right?”

“Is this a trick question?” Konoha asks, scratching his head in genuine confusion.

“Well?” Akaashi raises a brow.

Brow furrowed, Konoha says tentatively, “Um, yeah?”

Akaashi gives him a tight smile. “I don’t suppose you’ve noticed anything different, have you?”

Shrugging, Konoha takes a longer-than-necessary drag of his tea, hoping the scalding sensation in his mouth will force out the answer he thinks Akaashi is looking for. Once he can feel his lips again, Konoha decides to just go for it. “Other than the fact that you’re almost unfairly hot, not really. I’m not sure what you’re looking for me to say.”

The barely-smile spreads into a grin as Akaashi leans over the table and kisses Konoha long and hard. When their lips part, Konoha is equally breathless and confused, and he doesn’t doubt his expression says as much as Akaashi smooths his hand down Konoha’s cheek. “I don’t know what I adore about you more:” Akaashi murmurs, “the fact that you are so clueless sometimes, or that you’re so perceptive at the right times.”

“Thanks?” Konoha doesn’t know if he’s being praised or insulted, but the glow in Akaashi’s gaze makes him hopeful it’s the former. “Not to sound dumb here, but if there’s something you want me to decrypt, then I don’t think we’re on the same page.”

Akaashi chuckles and pats Konoha’s cheek. “It’s okay. It’s just going to be a bit more shocking when I tell you.” Taking a deep breath, Akaashi drains his now-cool tea and says bluntly, “I’m transgender, Konoha-san.”

“Huh?” The word is one Konoha knows, but the implications of it are foreign to him. But as he mentally catalogs everything he knows about transgender anything — and it’s a short list — Konoha isn’t sure it’s enough to make Akaashi any less _Akaashi_.

Konoha’s long silence seems to have an effect on Akaashi. Bit by bit, the latter’s face slips further into a frown, and Konoha realizes that he has no idea what he is supposed to say.

“Please say something,” Akaashi says as he hides his face in his hands.

With the sinking feeling that Akaashi is about to cry, Konoha panics and blurts, “I want to tell you it doesn’t matter to me, but I don’t know how without sounding like a dumbass or like I’m patronizing you or that it doesn’t matter at all.” Konoha growls and slaps his palm to his own forehead. “Goddamnit, it wasn’t supposed to come out like that.”

Chancing a sideways glance at Akaashi, wondering how many degrees of in the doghouse he’s going to be, Konoha physically starts when he sees that Akaashi is crying and smiling at the same time. “Shit, I broke you, didn’t I?”

Akaashi reaches over and slaps the back of Konoha’s head. “No. No you didn’t.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “In fact, you said exactly what I couldn’t even hope you would.”

“Holy crap, I’m glad I didn’t screw that up.” Konoha rubs the spot where Akaashi smacked him as he exhales heavily.

“No, you did just fine.” Akaashi sighs softly and continues. “Though you might not feel the same when I tell you that I might have lied to you about some things.”

Konoha harrumphs. “I figured as much. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. You did what you had to do.”

Eyes narrowing, Akaashi looks at him intently. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or if you’re mad.” When Konoha’s brows shoot up in surprise, Akaashi adds, “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

Considering everything he knows about Akaashi, the only question Konoha has is for himself. “What I wanna know is how I’ve seen you bare-assed naked twice and didn’t notice.”

Akaashi throws his head back and laughs. “You have no idea how annoyed I was the entire time I was in the shower. I was trying to give you a hint and see how you’d react, but all you did was pop an awkward boner and run away.”

“You noticed that?” Konoha shrinks into his chair. “Since it’s confession time and all . . .” He debates whether to continue, but Konoha figures Akaashi will find out eventually. Hiding his face in the crook of his elbow, Konoha says into his sleeve, “I might have jacked off to the sound of your voice a few times.”

Akaashi gapes at him. “And do you still feel that way now?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Konoha frowns. “I mean, you’re still you. All hella cute and hot. I’m pretty sure I could get it up if you so much as breathe on me.”

Mouth curling into a smirk, Akaashi’s eyes drift towards Konoha’s lap. “Oh? I might be interested in testing that theory in the very near future.” However, the moment is broken with a yawn. “But not today. I am so tired.”

“Yeah.” Konoha puts the empty cups into the sink and his hands in his pockets as he looks sheepishly at his socks. “I know you said you don’t want to do anything right now, but you can, er, stay the night if you want.”

“I’d like that.”

A short while later, Akaashi is clad in just boxer briefs and an old T-shirt of Konoha’s, while the latter is in his boxers and an old tank top. Konoha looks at his up-until-this-moment adequately sized bed and wonders how they’re both going to fit.  “It’s going to be a squeeze. Hope you don’t mind.”

Akaashi shrugs. “We managed to fit on the couch. It will be fine.” With that, he gestures towards the bed and says, “After you.” After some squirming and shifting, they manage to lie facing one another, with Konoha’s arm under Akaashi’s neck as his fingers trace whimsical patterns on the faded cotton. “Told you we’d fit.”

“Yeah,” Konoha breathes, still in disbelief that he’s here at this moment, with Akaashi’s soft smile such a short distance from his own lips. He could lean forward and kiss him any time, and just that knowledge alone is enough to keep his entire skin feel like it’s buzzing.

And so they stay, for nearly an hour, with their eyes forced closed, until Konoha huffs and mutters, “I can’t even pretend to sleep anymore.”

“Oh, thank god,” Akaashi hisses as he rolls onto his back with his arms akimbo. “I thought my neck was going to snap.”

Konoha rubs his tingling arm and can’t help but agree. “Cuddling is overrated. I’d rather just sleep.”

“Or talk, if you don’t mind.” Akaashi lolls his head to glance at Konoha. “Did I ever tell you that the show I’m doing right now is my first in almost three years?”

“It’s hard to believe,” Konoha says honestly. “Your voice and your acting are amazing. Watanabe-san thought so, too. She came to the show just to see you.”

Akaashi’s eyes widened. “Really? As in our largest donor Watanabe-san?”

Nodding, Konoha smiles. “She put up with me crying like a baby through the entire show.”

“God, that is cute.” Akaashi buries his face into the pillow and chuckles. His face is red when he turns back towards Konoha. “By the way, thank you for coming and for taking care of me.”

“Any time.” Konoha reaches out and pushes a lock of hair from Akaashi’s brow before stroking his cheek. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened? You seemed so alive on stage, and then it was all gone.”

Akaashi closes his eyes and groans. “I saw someone I never wanted to see again and just . . . I had to get out.”

“Was it Sushi Guy?” Konoha’s jaw hardens as he envisions punching a vague guy in the face, even though as he does, the face oddly morphs into Mr. Heckle.

“Yeah.” Akaashi rolls over to face the expanse of the room. “We were dating when I took a break from the stage so I could transition in peace. I was still Keiko back then. He said it didn’t matter, that he still loved me whether I was a guy or a girl, but he wouldn’t stop calling me the wrong name or calling me ‘she.’

“I told him it made me uncomfortable, and then he told me what he really thought.” Konoha can see Akaashi’s shoulders shiver. “The things he said . . . I don’t think I’ve ever felt like a worse piece of shit than that moment.”

Something cold coils in Konoha’s belly. “If I see that dude anywhere near you, I’m going to punch his teeth down his throat.” He wraps his arms around Akaashi’s middle and pulls him close until their bodies fit together. “You’re awesome. Never forget it.”

Akaashi harrumphs. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice him, to be honest. He was sitting almost right behind you.”

Konoha scowls. “About thirty-five, around 180cm with a stupid chinbeard? Smells like cologne from the 100 Yen Store?” Akaashi turns around in his arms and looks at him with wide eyes. “That shitstick? Really?”

“I was young!” Akaashi juts his lips into a pout as he glances over his shoulder. “Everyone makes mistakes. Much like the ones you probably made to even know what 100 Yen Store cologne smells like.”

With a bark of laughter, Konoha ineffectually shrugs into the mattress. “Guilty as charged.” He sighs and rolls onto his stomach. “Yeah, I remember Sushi Guy. Any idea who that woman was with him?”

“That was his wife.” Akaashi curls up and hugs his knees. “As I said, I made a lot of mistakes. I was young, confused, and making a lot of money. I used them all to convince myself that I wasn’t Keiji, that I was just Keiko and clueless.”

The ache in Akaashi’s voice makes Konoha feel like someone is stepping on his chest. “That sucks. So you finally left him and decided to take time for yourself?”

“Yeah.” Akaashi sits up and pulls off his shirt. “I was always small-chested, so testosterone treatments helped size those down, along with chest-strengthening exercises. My shoulders looked broader because of htose, my voice got deeper, and my body type started to change. But that introduced a whole world of problems. I felt good in my body for a change, but I couldn’t sing the way I could before. My voice was cracked and ugly, and I didn’t react too well to the hormones for quite a while. I still can’t sleep sometimes.”

Suddenly, a lot of things started to click in place as he figured out the little white lies Akaashi had mentioned. “That’s why you left the business for so long, and why you were so sensitive when I said your music sounded like a bag of cats. You were relearning how to sing.”

“And why I live in such a tiny apartment.” Akaashi sighs. “After the treatments for my transition, I ran out of money pretty quickly. If this show flopped, I don’t know how much longer I could’ve paid rent without giving up my career for some awful retail job.”

Konoha absorbs all of this new information and can’t believe Akaashi is as well-adjusted as he is after so much bullshit in his life. If he wasn’t in love with the guy already, Konoha is certain he would be now. “You are hella badass.”

Akaashi grins before turning over and rolling on top of Konoha. Straddling his hips, he leans in for a slow, languorous kiss. “And so are you,” he pants into Konoha’s ear.

Gazing at the ceiling, Konoha bites his lip and tries not to moan. Not now. Akaashi deserves better than some gross little boy who can’t control himself. Instead, he wraps his arms around Akaashi and hugs him tightly, placing a soft kiss on his bare shoulder.

This is when Konoha notices that Akaashi’s face burrowed in his neck, along with the soft, wheezing sound of sleep. He wonders whether he should wake Akaashi up so they can populate opposite sides of the bed, but the weight is warm and not unpleasant, so he sighs over Akaashi’s soft, pale skin and finds himself asleep soon after.

When he awakens, Akaashi is still snoozing on his chest, with a little wet spot on his shirt from the faintest trickle of drool. Konoha chuckles. “That is so cute it actually hurts.”

At this, Akaashi stirs and raises his head, eyes still closed and jaw slack, while his hair shoots out in every direction. “Huh?”

Konoha cranes his neck to peck Akaashi’s lips before smoothing out his hair. “Your bedhead is almost sexier than your regular hair.”

Akaashi yawns before sitting up next to Konoha. He groans and shakes his head. “Sorry I drooled on you, Konoha-san. And for falling asleep on you.”

Snickering, Konoha give Akaashi a lopsided smile. “S’okay. It was nice.” He stretches his arms and sits up, as well. “And just for the record, you don’t have to call me that.”

“Aki-chan, then?”

Konoha is fairly certain that he would set fire to anyone else who dares to call him that, but from Akaashi, it is far sweeter than offensive. He knows he’s blushing from the sound of it, which has probably answered the question already.

But Akaashi shakes his head. “No, that’s not quite right. Too infantile.” He furrows his brow for a moment before turning to Konoha and cupping his cheek to pull him in for a soft kiss. When he lets go, against Konoha’s lips, Akaashi murmurs, “Nori.”

Something warm blossoms in Konoha’s belly when he hears Akaashi say his name. He doesn’t even try to stop himself from dragging Akaashi onto his lap and trailing hungry kisses down the graceful slope of Akaashi’s shoulder. In response, Akaashi groans and rolls his hips.

It’s with a great amount of effort that Konoha’s mouth parts ways with Akaashi’s smooth skin and he says, “When do you have to be in today?”

Akaashi is having none of this, however. “Noon,” he grumbles as he lances fingers into Konoha’s hair and plants a savage kiss on his mouth.

Konoha can taste the metallic tang of blood after Akaashi bites his lip, but it just adds to the dull roar of his pulse pounding in his ears. His own hands wrap around Akaashi’s middle and cup his bottom to wrench them both closer together.

He’s light-headed when Akaashi tears his mouth away, and they’re both panting. Their eyes meet, and Konoha is almost certain that he’s being given the green light. “Is this okay for you?” he asks as he remembers how upset Akaashi had been less than twelve hours before.

“More than okay,” Akaashi answers with a shy smile, so in contrast with the almost lewd level of arousal only moments before. In invitation, he loops his arms around Konoha’s neck and leans them both backwards until Konoha’s weight is solidly atop Akaashi.

Konoha pumps his fist and hisses, “Yes~” at the ceiling. Akaashi laughs until Konoha growls and bites the inside of his thigh. He grins as Akaashi’s legs wend around him and thinks that he is the luckiest guy to ever throw a shoe in his neighbor’s direction.

 

The next three weeks are series of stolen moments between days with schedules that no longer overlap and nights spent curled into each other, often in nothing but pure exhaustion.

But one constant is Saturday nights. Konoha sees the show every weekend, silently grateful that Akaashi can get him a free seat when he finds out that the seat he normally inhabits costs nearly ten thousand yen. He runs into Watanabe-san once more, who greets him with a robust hug and a zipper bag full of mochi to snack on during the show.

Yet every time he sees Akaashi perform, Konoha can’t help but be taken aback by how _good_ Akaashi is. Coupled with the knowledge that Akaashi has had to cultivate this level of talent not once, but twice, he can hardly believe that this ethereal creature on the stage is really his boyfriend (a phrase he really enjoys saying to himself).

Konoha doesn’t watch the show as closely after the third time, mostly because he’s interested in how easily others in the audience are enthralled by the story and by Akaashi. There are quite a few, and Konoha finds himself to be damn proud of that fact. He says as much as he waits for Akaashi outside the dressing room, only to be answered with an eye roll and a kiss.

After the fourth week, however, it doesn’t take Konoha long to spot a very unwanted member of the audience. He isn’t sure which he detects first — the snotty air or the cheap cologne. Sushi Guy isn’t as close this time (four rows back instead of one), but there is one notable thing about his presence: his wife isn’t with him.

It takes a lot of effort for Konoha to stare straight forward at the act in front of him and not think about the jackass behind him, but he does. He does it for Akaashi, he does it for Watanabe-san, and he does it for himself. He’d much rather spend the night in bed with Akaashi than in jail for gross bodily harm.

The show feels like it takes three days to end, rather than three hours, but when it does, Konoha makes a beeline to the stage hand next to the employee entrance so he can wait for Akaashi without looking at Sushi Guy.

His stomach drops when he thinks about the idea of Akaashi noticing Sushi Guy. While the rest of that night had brought them together, Konoha doesn’t ever want to relive the breakdown in Akaashi’s dressing room. He knows he’s no genius, but the idea of feeling so helpless tastes bitter when he thinks about it.

Konoha reaches Akaashi’s dressing room before Akaashi does, who smiles when he sees him. “Sometimes, I wonder how you’re not tired of the show, but oddly enough, it’s kind of nice that you’re not.”

With a sloppy grin, Konoha says, “You’re so good, it’s almost gross. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of watching you.”

Akaashi pecks him on the cheek. “I hope you don’t. I do seven shows a week, but the one you go to is always the one I feel I do best in.”

He used to look away while Akaashi undressed, but Konoha doesn’t bother anymore. Now, he helps Akaashi shuck the hot layers of polyester and hangs up the costume while the other dresses in street clothes. It also helps them escape the building in record time so they can spend what’s left of the night together, and Konoha would be lying if he said that isn’t the highlight of every night for him.

They leave the dressing room hand in hand, but while Akaashi seems to be relaxed, Konoha knows he’s radiating tension. He knows he didn’t watch Sushi Guy leave, and while it’s unlikely the dude left, Konoha doesn’t believe for a second that Sushi Guy came to see the show again because he enjoys watching it.

Konoha doesn’t realize he’s been squeezing Akaashi’s hand until the latter punches him softly in the arm and hisses, “Nori!”

Blinking back into awareness, Konoha shakes his head and sighs heavily. “Keiji, I saw Sushi Guy in the audience.”

Akaashi stops short, allowing his hand to slip from Konoha’s grasp and ball into a fist. “He can’t hurt me anymore.”

 _Are you telling me or yourself?_ Konoha wonders as he sees Akaashi’s shoulders tense.

Carefully, Konoha unfurls the fist Akaashi had made and laces their fingers together. “Well, then, let’s walk out of here and let him see it if he dares. Then he might go the fuck away.”

Akaashi nods curtly and, with a little more pressure in their linked hands than Konoha would deem comfortable, they march on towards the exit.

It doesn’t surprise either of them when, past the small throng of audience members milling around the exits, Voldemort himself is leaning against a streetlamp puffing on a cigar.

The hand linked with Konoha’s is now squeezing with vice-like force as they observe Akaashi’s ex in all of his pretentious glory. Konoha glances at the pole Sushi Guy is leaning against and snorts. Of course. “The irony of where he’s standing would be funny if I didn’t want to punch this guy in the throat,” he mutters in Akaashi’s ear.

When Akaashi’s brows raise in question, Konoha looks pointedly at the No Smoking sign right above Sushi Guy’s head. Akaashi chuckles at this, and Konoha enjoys both the fact that Akaashi is not nearly as tense as he was moments ago and the increased circulation in his hand.

“You want me to get rid of this guy?” Konoha asks.

However, Akaashi shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. This is something I need to do.” With a deep breath but never losing his grip on Konoha, Akaashi says plainly, “Kousuke.”

“A little informal, aren’t we, _Keiji_?”

Tension oozes back into Akaashi, who is standing rigidly next to Konoha. Low enough so only Akaashi can hear, Konoha says, “You don’t owe him anything. Don’t let him talk to you like you do.”

But Akaashi just huffs and rolls his eyes. “Oh, let’s be real here. It’s not close to the worst thing I’ve called you.”

“I suppose it’s not.” Sushi Guy drags his gaze over Konoha, who immediately wants to fold his arms against the unwanted perusal. “Aren’t you going to introduce your new toy?”

Akaashi raises a brow. “That isn’t necessary. I don’t expect any sort of prolonged contact. I just wanted to give you a friendly reminder that the city of Tokyo does not allow smoking in public areas outside of clearly marked zones and private facilities.”

Konoha can’t stop his bark of laughter, and when he catches the lively glimmer in Akaashi’s eyes, it’s impossible not to smirk at Kousuke’s irritation. He mentally chides himself for not having faith in Akaashi’s ability to take care of himself. With a harrumph, Konoha turns to Akaashi and, while completely ignoring Kousuke, asks, “So, what do you have in mind for dinner?”

Flashing him a soft smile that makes Konoha’s insides melt, Akaashi answers, “I have some tofu and veggies in the fridge. We could have stir fry.”

“Sounds great.”

And without a backwards glance at Whatshisname Kousuke (Konoha doesn’t know or want to know his surname), they stroll away towards the train station to go home. Whether it’s Akaashi’s apartment or his own, the two are one and the same to Konoha because of one very important factor:

Akaashi is there.


End file.
